Stolen Away
by BehrBeMine
Summary: Kyle misses Liz.


TITLE: Stolen Away  
AUTHOR: Elise (BehrBeMine)  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything. Don't sue, I'll cry. ;p  
SUMMARY: Kyle misses Liz.  
DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Let me know where you've put it.  
RATING: PG-13 for language and sexual suggestion.  
PAIRING: Kyle/Liz (for the most part)  
SPOILERS: 'Heat Wave'  
THANKS: Thanks to Stacey for beta reading this for me.  
DEDICATION: For Aurora (what isn't these days?), for being so great and for rocking my mailbox.  
  
  
She was mine. My girl. Those big brown eyes looked at me and for the summer, her lips curved into a smile when she saw my eyes light up. Just one summer - - three months, and then she was gone.  
  
Three months of summer vacation are like heaven when you've got a girl by your side. Especially a girl that drives us all crazy, and knowing that I caught her before anyone else could step in was invigorating. She was my prize. I had earned those smiles, and it was only right that those adorable giggles were directed at me.  
  
Liz didn't let guys get close. I knew that even before she explained it to me. It was something that further endeared her to me - - the fact that she was as innocent as she looked and that her whole wide-eyed wonder was for real. I showed her things that she'd never been shown before, and I wanted to make her feel things that she never even knew she could. I wanted to, but I didn't - - I couldn't.  
  
Someone tugs at the collar of my shirt and I'm pulled back into the here-and-now. Vicky smacks her gum and snaps her fingers in front of my face, ripping me out of my Liz-daze. Vicky Delaney, the five-foot-eight supermodel look-alike, smiles and flutters her eyelashes. I have to strain to hear her words over the booming music that's grabbed onto every stitch of hearing ability I have: "Want to go make out?"  
  
Magic words. I nod and she leads me out of the old soap factory, squeezing us through small gathered crowds of dunken teenagers. As we step out into the fresh night air, I pump her hand that's in mine and race toward my truck that's parked not far from the back doors of the building. Hurling myself into the back, my lips are ready to be seized by hers as soon as she climbs in and topples over my body.  
  
Kissing is an art form, one that I've mastered. But she's too in-control, she's slopping them up. Her lips are wet and her hands rough as she gropes whatever's there. "Whoa!" I yell when she grabs something a little too personal, and she laughs in a hysterical way, sucking my lips back into her mouth. Is this bliss? Have I become too much of a wuss to seize the moment when it's upon me? Have I become too distracted to recognize when that moment is?  
  
One of the most lusted-after females in the school is on top of me, ravaging my body as if she's been deprived when I know full well that Billy's sex story last week was no lie. She wants to have sex, of course she does - - it's like her hobby, but, amazingly, I'm not interested. I close my eyes and after awhile I don't even see her, don't even hardly feel her weight on top of me anymore. My mind finds its way to something else.  
  
Not something. Someone. Behind my closed eyes, I see Liz, dressed in her usual conservative way, her glossy hair pulled back from her face as she rounds a corner of the highschool hallway. Like she did this morning. As she raised her eyes to meet mine with a look of surprise, I saw her as if in slow motion, and nearly forgot about the hot blonde on my arm.  
  
And Vicky, wanting to prove to me that Liz would be fine with the two of us, blurted out the details of this party. Right away, I knew what my innocent ex-girlfriend's reaction would be, and nearly laughed out loud when she mused, "Is that even legal?" But then she turned her words around and gave me the shock of the century when she said she was thinking of coming. Liz Parker at a law-breaking, boisterous party after curfew? Something wasn't right here.  
  
Vicky yanks up on the waistband of my tight-fitting jeans, and once again I'm torn back into the present. My eyes pop open to see her looking slightly annoyed. "You're not going to make me do all the work, are you?" she asks.  
  
I shove the sentimental bullshit deep down within me and pull her shirt off in one swift motion. A girl is a girl; making out is making out. After repeating that phrase silently in my head a few times, I find that those words work for me. I pull her head down to mine and insert my tongue into her mouth. Her hands slide up the cotton sleeves on my arms, then work slowly on the buttons of my shirt. Despite the way she's causing my body to respond, I find myself thinking again of who I'd rather she be.  
  
As my hands work over the beautiful body of this chick that wants me for one night of meaningless sex - - any guy's greatest fantasy, I imagine that it's the little brunette that I feel in places my father wouldn't approve of. And so in time I see that it's the feather-light small body of Liz that I hold in my arms, and suddenly the kissing is more fun.  
  
This past summer, Roswell was hit with a sudden rainstorm in mid-July. Moisture poured down from the sky to soak into the dehydrated desert town, prompting most of the sun-loving residents of my neighborhood to slam all windows and doors shut, and prompting Liz and I to run screaming out into the deserted street in front of my house. My dad wasn't home to lecture us about disturbing the peace, and if the neighbors complained, I didn't hear them. Liz and I ran around for nearly an hour, yelling and laughing with an idiotic nonchalance I was afraid we'd lost. Like baby teeth.  
  
At some point I stopped, panting for breath. Liz stalled in her sprint down to the other end of the street, turning my way and putting her hands on her hips. "Am I too much for you, Kyle?" she teased.  
  
Shot down, I pulled her to me with a giddy grin on my face. "Can I redeem myself?" She might've come back with one of her annoyingly smart answers, but I silenced them with kisses, and with touches. In those brief seconds when I'd let go of her mouth, her giggles would ensue, making her so irresistable to me that I could hardly stand it. My curious hands found their way to her ice-cold skin beneath her flimsy cotton tanktop.  
  
She pulled away from my mouth. "Kyle, stop," she warned, finding my hands with hers and pushing them down. "Kyle, stop, please," she reinforced when I was hesitant to take my hands from her body.  
  
I sighed, nodding in resignation. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."  
  
We were both soaked, and it was making us cold. Liz's small frame shuddered and, a little worried, I ushered her inside. We were met with the silence of my empty house as I closed the front door, shutting out the cold. Wet footprints were planted on the carpeted floor as I made my way to a lamp, turning it on to illuminate the dreary room with its yellow artificial light.  
  
She stood just inside the door, hugging herself tightly and looking around my living room as if she hadn't seen it a hundred times before. Her clothes hung off her skin like heavy drapes hung out to dry, and the normally silky strands of her hair hung down, limp and stringy. Stray ringlets fell here and there around her pale face, complete with small droplets of liquid. I walked to the bathroom to retrieve her a warm towel, and she thanked me politely as she took it and wrapped it around her shivering body.  
  
Again I sighed, shoving my hands into the soaked material of my jean pockets. "Why don't you want me to touch you?"  
  
"Kyle, I..." The apprehension in her face vanished like a discarded mask, replaced with a sugary sweet smile. She shrugged off the fluffy white towel, and, lacing her hands together, she raised her arms up and over my head, cupping the back of my neck. As I looked closely I could see the slight change in her smile now that she was closer. It was less forced, and more sincere. "I'm sorry, Kyle... I think you're a really great guy, I just... I'm not very experienced with this kind of thing, and I get scared unless things go slow."  
  
In the back of my mind, I conjured up a response, though I was smart enough to know that saying something like, "Snails move quicker..." wouldn't exactly win me a part of her trust.  
  
Vicky's teeth sharply nip at my neck, and as I snap my eyes back open, I hear footsteps coming closer. Damn bastards, can't they stay away until I get what I'm after? Curious as to who the steps belong to, Vicky pulls me up by the lips, and as I glance over to my right, I see the brunette that I can't stop thinking about, the summer fling that won't leave my mind, about to kiss Max Evans.  
  
Could they come together any slower? Has someone pushed the slow motion button? Maybe it's just me. It's like some kind of cruel and unusual punishment, watching her near his lips, edging closer and closer, hers curved into a slight smile. My frustration soars up to my vocal chords, and I want to yell out, "Get off her face!" It would be easier if they'd just slam their lips together and get it overwith, then she could wrinkle her nose at the terribly inexperienced kisser Evans has got to be, and she can get over him. But the inching continues, and suddenly I'm talking. "...Enjoying the party?"  
  
Both of them turn to look at me at the same time, as if their reaction times are synchronized. And, though I stopped what I really didn't need to see, I almost wish I hadn't when I see the light in her deep brown eyes burn out.  
  
And it's not for the first time that I realize I've never made her eyes light up like that. I've never seen her look at me the way that she's looking at him. I think I'll always say that I lost her to him, but in reality, I don't know if I ever really had her.  
  
Police sirens sound in the near vicinity, and I see Max clasp onto Liz's hand and watch the two of them scamper away before I grab Vicky and pull her down out of sight. I know that my dad must be here, and the last thing I need is to be grounded on top of everything else. Peeking up in a cowardly way, I glimpse my dad, Hanson, Dagget, and Brown as they head into the noisy soap factory, intent on busting some poor fool who lets himself get caught. Finding the opportunity for escape, I yell something to Vicky about hurrying up as I jump out of the back and rush into the driver's seat, beckoning to the high-heeled slowpoke in an exasperated way before sending a flurry of dust in our wake as we scream the hell out of there.  
  
As soon as we hit the actual road and are outside the confines of the party, Vicky erupts in laughter. "Wonder who's gonna get busted."  
  
I smirk, enjoying the outside possibility of Max and his cronies being locked behind bars for a few hours, getting the crap scared out of them by my dad, only to feel like idiots when they're released a couple hours later, no charges filed. Max, the come-from-behind girlfriend stealer, the sly kid that swoops in from beneath your feet to crawl into her heart right under your nose, all the while maintaining that puppy dog look of, "Who, me?"  
  
Maybe Liz will let him touch whatever he wants, let him kiss her whenever he has the urge. Maybe because he's Max Evans and not Kyle Valenti, she'll be more open to exploring what I could have given her. That's fine; I'll try to pretend it doesn't bother me. And, while I'm at it, I'll try to supress the urge to bash his face in.  
  
In the meantime, I'll get my cheap thrills with the Vicky Delaneys of West Roswell High, making out in the back of random pick-up trucks, and trying to pretend that it's satisfying even if they don't have those shining brown eyes.  
  
  
The end. 


End file.
